


Like Father, Like Son

by Laeviss



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Coming Out, M/M, father-son bonding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-26
Updated: 2018-04-26
Packaged: 2019-04-28 09:46:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14446608
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laeviss/pseuds/Laeviss
Summary: Anduin comes out to his father, only to learn they have more in common than he thought.





	Like Father, Like Son

It wasn’t supposed to go so far.

One moment they had been talking on the road winding down from the Temple of the White Tiger. Anduin had stopped to rest his feet; Wrathion had taken a step closer to shield him from the wind. He had just spent an hour bickering with Garrosh about redemption and he was so _tired_ that he had forgotten where he was and what was considered proper behavior.

His arms had draped over Wrathion’s shoulders, and Wrathion had rested their foreheads together. He had strained up onto his toes, and soon their lips had met: Wrathion’s soft and full against his own cold-chapped skin. Letting out a sigh, he had held him. Eyes closed, he had finally started to forget the trial and everything that was at stake.

He had finally forgotten the sun setting behind his back and the minutes slipping away as he clung to his dragon boyfriend. 

But then, a cough behind him left the two frozen in place. When Anduin turned, he found his father standing in the road with lips set into a line. The color drained from his cheeks. Varian shot the dragon a look, and they both knew it was time to go home.

____________

“Sit,” Varian broke the silence when they entered the main room of his tent. Gesturing towards the empty chair, he waited. Anduin swallowed, and, feeling numb, gripped the armrest for support. His father paused. The silence was almost palpable.

But Varian waited. He didn’t speak again until Anduin had made his way into the seat. The prince wasn’t sure if he should take his time and put off the questions, or get it over with so he could leave and succumb to his nerves in the privacy of his own tent. He opted for the former, but only because his voice caught in his throat.

He had played through this moment in his head for years— lying awake and deliberating, whispering about it with Wrathion when his guards were out of earshot. He had even told Magni while he was living in Ironforge: a kind of rehearsal, perhaps, but if so, he had forgotten his lines. 

When he finally faced his father across the table, he reached out and toyed with his pen. Varian sat up too straight in his seat, and then muttered, almost under his breath, “How long has this been happening?”

“About six months, on and off,” Anduin hated how small his voice sounded; there was nothing he could do but swallow.

“Have you had sex?”

Anduin felt like the air had been ripped from his lungs. Heat flooded his face, and if not for the ache in his leg he would have thought this a dream. He wanted to snap back at his father for asking such a personal question, but when their eyes met, he found something he didn’t expect: nerves. A faint blush, and lips that quivered when they tried to form a difficult phrase, “I mean intercourse. Have you—”

“We have.” His quip was as much to cut off his father as it was to put the whole matter to rest. Gritting his teeth, he waited. Varian seemed to be fighting to think. 

The king paused, drew in a breath, and then answered, definitively: “We all go through this, Anduin. Everyone goes through it.”

What? In all the scenarios Anduin had played out, the outburst he had imagined, the guilt trip, the admonishment about _what exactly this means_ for his royal house, and how the nobles will never allow it, he hadn’t guessed it could take this turn. In a way, it annoyed him. How could his father just play off something so important to him like he was going through some kind of _phase_?

On the defensive, his voice came stronger. His hands clenched the armrests on either side of his waist. “No, father, I’m gay. I have known since before I left Stormwind—”

“Yes, Anduin, but this is normal—”

“I know this is normal, father. I just need to know you know who I am, and what this means for my future—”

Please don’t play it off, he wanted to add, but a lump rose to his throat at the thought. Biting his lip, he forced his gaze to steady, taking in his father’s eyes and the crease that formed between furrowed brows. 

“I do understand,” Varian mumbled, earnest, but awkward. The wind whistled against the tent flap beside them; it was a welcome distraction from the prince’s pulse in his ears. 

His father was trying, but Anduin’s face felt cold. He opened his mouth to protest again, but Varian cut in first, the words he had clearly been stringing together in his head coming out in a single breath.

“I felt the same way about Arthas when I was your age, and I’ve never wanted to be with a woman.”

Now Anduin knew this couldn’t be some kind of dream; his mind couldn’t have conjured up something like this on its own. Not about his father— the father who had pushed him to be more like him, to be more “manly,” who had made him afraid— and certainly not about Arthas. They had been friends. That’s what the nobles had murmured. Friendly rivals. Not, well...

Anduin caught his mouth gaping, and he quickly snapped it closed. His father’s rumble seemed to linger in the space between them, inviting too many questions to ask all at once. Finally, in barely more than a whisper, he managed to form the most pressing:

“But you were with mother?”

“Yes,” Varian seemed to be ready for this one, at least. "I grew to love your mother, which is what I mean when I say—”

“That you never wanted to be with a woman? I don’t understand.”

“What I mean—” Varian let out an exhale. Anduin watched. The king pressed back his bangs with hands, and fixed his gaze on the table’s surface, as if reading something that wasn’t there.

“What I mean—” he sounded hoarse, and his words trailed off to a murmur. “I loved her, but we had some...challenges. In that respect. In bed, I mean. Do you understand?” 

Anduin's cheeks were on fire, but this time, it had nothing to do with his father catching him kissing. Talking about sex with him was awkward at best, but trying to tell his father, after all these years...How could he have kept this quiet? 

The irony of how scared he’d been— how convinced what his father might say— and now he was the one looking the king in the face and trying to explain to him what he’d clearly struggled to grasp for years. 

Anduin felt for him, and empathy soon brought a smile, nervous and faint though it was. Reaching across the table, he lightly, almost tentatively, let his hand rest against his father’s steel glove.

“Father—” He tried his voice. Content with the sound, he continued, “I don’t think everyone goes through this.”

It was a gamble, but he had to say it. His heart clenched in his chest, but he reached out to the Light’s compassion. And Varian didn’t flinch or pull away when he added, “Father, I think you might be gay.”

He didn’t expect an answer, but he gave the king time to pause nonetheless. He felt his hand shake beneath him, and he patted him, waited, and then, finally, slowly, Varian started to speak:

“I was frustrated. I tried to keep it under control.” He paused again, and then added, a bit desperate, “Are you sure I wasn’t just tense?”

Anduin’s flush crept back up his neck, but he shook his head, trying his best not to dwell on the turn this conversation had taken, and who he was trying to counsel. “I’m sure you were tense, father. That is normal, you know. But I don’t think frustration alone is enough to explain this.”

“But it was people who _annoyed_ me. Arthas, and that—” Whatever the king was planning, he dropped it abruptly, changing tactics. “I only acted on it twice. I couldn’t risk anyone finding out—”

Anduin tried his best to follow, to piece it together, and to venture a small, “So you only acted on it with Arthas, and with somebody else who frustrated you? Are you sure they weren’t frustrating because, ah—”

Varian sighed; closing his eyes, he let out a small, almost concessionary, “Yes.”

What was his father trying to say here? Anduin sat for a moment in his emotions— all the relief and the confusion, as everything he believed about his father started to unfurl. He needed to tie up the ends, to re-weave some kind of narrative about the man he thought he knew. And yet, he felt closer to him in that moment than ever before, just sitting and thinking with his hand pressed against his glove.

“You deserve to be happy, father.”

“It’s too late.”

“It’s not too late,” the prince insisted, scooting his chair until he chest pressed against the table. “I’m happy, you know. You’ll feel better when you accept it.”

“I accept you, it’s just difficult for me—”

“To accept yourself? I know.” Anduin let out a whisper of a laugh: soft, but sincere. Letting his hand fall away from his father’s arm, he sat back up. He nodded, and watched Varian’s face. “But you should, and maybe that person— well, whoever it was— won’t frustrate you anymore.”

Varian opened his mouth, and Anduin expected some kind of protest, but instead he just lapsed back to into silence. He was curious, but, of course, he knew he couldn’t push him for more. Hopefully his father would answer his questions in time.

Rising, the prince leaned his weight against the table, and gave his father a nod. “I am going to talk to Wrathion now,” he said, now candid, knowing he had nothing left to hide. “And yes, I know he’s a dragon. I’m careful. But I think he’s probably worried.”

Varian nodded, then glanced towards the door, adding a simple “I know.” 

With a nod he headed to lift the tent flap, but before he left, he turned back, not knowing why he said it, not knowing what corner of his heart or his mind had produced the words that formed on his lips: 

“You should talk to him, you know. Before it’s too late.”

“I know.”

____________

Once he was back in his tent, Anduin let his emotions unwind. He collapsed on his bed, and a sigh overtook him, washed over him, even, like a welcome bath after a day of hard work.

Sliding his hand under his pillow, he clasped the gem he had hidden and brought it to rest against his sweaty forehead. It took less than a moment for Wrathion’s voice to enter his mind:

“Are you all right, my prince? What happened? I hope your father wasn’t too harsh!”

“No, no. Nothing like that.” How could he even start to explain? He shook his head, and squeezed closed his eyes, hoping that his boyfriend could feel as well as think his thoughts.

And it seemed to be enough, at least for a moment. He sensed Wrathion’s nod, and the exhale that escaped his pursed lips. “Well, then, what did he have to say? If you don’t mind me asking, of course.”

“He, well,” He scooted to rest his head on his pillow, then rolled onto his side, still keeping the gem in place beneath the palm of his hand. From Wrathion’s side things went quiet, and finally, bemused and amused and in shock, he continued:

“Well, I think I just told my father to go sleep with Garrosh.”


End file.
